


Out of the Loop

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, Masturbation, Second War with Voldemort, The Quidditch Pitch: More Than Two, Weasleycest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-30
Updated: 2007-09-30
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:13:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10812456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: George suspects that his twin and his best friend are keeping a big secret from him and he's determined to find out what it is.Warning:Very slightly incestuous. Meaning they're in the same room, but they don't actually touch.Pairing, Fred/Lee; Fred/Lee/George?





	Out of the Loop

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
> **Author's notes:**
> 
> Written for Hp_Summersmut
> 
> Thank you to Stacy, Maple, and Quizzical for looking it over! 

George Weasley was a sad, pathetic, lonely man.  And for a twin, ‘lonely’ was more than a little disconcerting.  It wasn’t that Fred was being rude, or ignoring him, or even neglecting him, exactly—it was that he had lost his brother’s focus.  Which _had_ happened occasionally, most often when a girl was involved, but this was worse.  Because somehow, he had managed to lose _Lee_ at the same time—his backup, his third in command.  Somehow, he had been left to his own devices and he didn’t know what he had done to alienate both of them. 

Every time he walked into a room, it seemed that the two of them stopped talking.  They wouldn’t meet his eyes.  Fred would go out nearly every night of the week, ‘on a date,’ supposedly, but then, when George would pop his head in Lee’s fire, Lee was nowhere to be found either.  It was too much of a coincidence to ignore.  They were plotting things together.  They didn’t need him any more.  There had been one too many girls to distract George, and the other two’s bond had strengthened, leaving George out in the cold.  How did someone who had very little identity of his own deal with feeling as though he had been ripped in half?  Or, in thirds, perhaps. 

He tried to come up with other possibilities.  They were working on a project together.  They were secretly dating a pair of friends. 

Sisters, maybe. 

_Twins._

The Patils... 

That though cheered him for a bit, especially when he noticed that Fred was coming home with a satisfied smirk on his face, smelling—blimey, there was no doubt about it— smelling like he’d been up to no good with someone.  But when he ran into the Patil twins (who were busy with plans for their upcoming weddings to a pair of foreign cousins their parents had found for them) he had to throw that idea out with the bathwater.  Well, really, it could be _anyone._   Just someone who came as part of a pair, right? 

As the days wore on, his curiosity was piqued.  No perfume-scented owls arriving for Fred at odd hours.  No bills from the florist delivered with their daily mail.  No naughty words whispered into the Floo in the middle of the night.  He knew Fred’s seduction style almost as well as his own, didn’t he?  Fred wasn’t even making an attempt to look more presentable.  Not that he didn’t _always_ look devilishly handsome, but how could he help that, being George’s mirror image?

Who was his brother seeing?  And why was he being so secretive about it?  And what had it to do with Lee, anyway?  Maybe…

Maybe they were dating the _same_ girl. 

_At the same time._

When this thought popped unbidden to his head, George nearly dropped the cup of tea he’d been holding.  The images that bombarded his brain should not have affected him the way they did.  Some faceless brunette with big tits, sucking off Lee while Fred took her from behind.  Some other bird, also with big tits (but with blonde hair) riding Lee, while Fred entered her through the back door.  Another girl (with big tits, naturally, but with dark skin) sitting on Lee’s face and licking Fred’s cock like a lolly. 

That just wasn’t right.  _Two girls and a bloke_ made sense, not the other way around.  But still…

Those images were vivid enough to have him wanking in the shower. 

Twice.

And once in the loo at the shoppe.

It didn’t help things that he had _years_ of crystal clear images of both his brother’s and his friend’s bodies to make the fantasy (oh, _hell no,_ it most certainly _wasn’t_ a fantasy) more realistic. Freckles, freckles, everywhere and long dark limbs and red hair and black dreadlocks and… _tits._   Mustn’t forget about the tits.

He carried those thoughts with him for the next few days, and it only got worse as he watched Fred and Lee carefully and surreptitiously.  The way their eyes would meet, and they’d look around to see if anyone noticed.  The way that Lee would smile and Fred would grow flushed, making George wonder if they were remembering a _previous_ moment when their eyes met, when a girl was giving pleasure to both of them, crying out from her own release.

It was driving him mad. The images would simply not leave his brain.    The entire concept had managed to burrow into some small, sick, suppressed part of him that had thought it would be a jolly good idea to _share_ a girl with Fred, to share the most intimate of experiences with him the way that they had shared nearly everything else in their lives.  The fact that Fred had chosen _Lee_ to do something like that with hurt him profoundly.   He _had_ to know if his suspicions were correct. 

So he made a big show of buggering off work early one day for a ‘date with the girl behind the counter at Eyelops.’   Instead, he hid in the shadows between the two buildings across the street, waiting to see what happened.  Sure enough, once the sun began to set, Lee came sauntering up to the door, grinning, his white teeth flashing in the dim light of the dusk.   He walked into the store, putting up the ‘closed’ sign as if he owned the place, closing the curtains that hung over the door.  George continued to wait, hiding behind a hooded black cloak, wondering where they would wind up heading off to together.

Nothing happened. 

Nor had a girl shown up, and George grew increasingly confused. 

Unless it was Verity—and for a few moments, the idea of Verity’s ivory skin and golden hair mingled in with freckles, dark limbs, ginger hair and dreadlocks flooded George’s brain.  To his utter mortification, he had to adjust his trousers as a stab of lust went through him.   

He needed to _see_ it.  He would never feel a moment’s peace until he’d satisfied his curiosity.

So, he soundlessly opened the door to the shop, listening intently for the sound of a girlish giggle, or Fred’s telltale snickering, or, best of all, Lee’s infectious belly laugh.  But there _wasn’t_ any laughter, nor any groans or moans or panting—nothing at all. George wondered if they’d taken the back stairs up to the flat (and was about to head upstairs to investigate) when a strangled moan of the masculine variety from the basement lab redirected him.  Heart pounding, he slipped stealthily down the stairs, hovering against the wall, hoping that his dark cloak would conceal him. 

And then he froze.

Because Verity _wasn’t_ there, nor was some other nameless bird.  George discovered the improbable sight of Lee, pushed roughly against the unyielding brick wall, being snogged rather desperately by Fred.  It was _Lee_ —groaning as Fred made his way down his neck and chest, biting and sucking and swearing softly as he tugged at the buttons of Lee’s shirt.  It was _Fred_ —kneeling before their old friend, fumbling at the opening of his trousers, taking out a dark, shining, stiff cock before it was blocked from George’s view by his brother’s bobbing head.

George felt the world drop from beneath his feet—finding his knees weakening as he tried to process what he was seeing.  He sank down onto a nearby stair, unable to avert his eyes.  It simply wasn’t possible that his own brother, _his twin,_ the person whom he knew better than anyone else, was…well, giving some other bloke a blow job.  But he _was_ …and he was apparently pretty good at it, if Lee’s face and the way that his fingers had tightened in Fred’s hair were any indication.  Even as George watched, the events of the past few weeks came back to haunt him as further proof—the secretive looks, the barely contained excitement, the innuendo.

_I’ve been a fucking idiot,_ George thought.  _But_ no _…Fred likes girls, he always has.   There was Angelina, and that prissy uptight Ravenclaw prefect, and the girl at the post office, and all those birds he chatted up at bars,_ and…

But…there he was.

With _Lee._

_Their best friend._

George shook his head, feeling a stab of jealousy— _not_ jealousy at what they were doing together—but jealousy that they had shared this for all that time, and not seen fit to include _him._ Well, not exactly include him, he certainly didn’t want any part of _that,_ but…

Well, they could have _told_ him, anyway.

He tried to ignore the small voice that insisted he would have reacted very badly indeed.  Or—worse yet— _laughed,_ assuming they were taking the mickey out on him.

He liked to think that he would have been understanding, but he couldn’t be sure.  Yet _here,_ with it all confronting him so vividly—well it made a strange sort of sense, didn’t it?  _They_ seemed to have it all sorted out, anyway—the way that Lee was groaning and making full use of his colourful vocabulary, the utter absence of hesitation in Fred’s technique.  Was it odd to have a twinge of pride in his brother’s apparent skill?  If you were going to suck cock, you might as well be good at it, right?

He couldn't take his eyes away, though he felt filled with shame over continuing to witness such a private moment He could make out the sharp lines of Lee's chest through the gap in his blood red shirt, the black trail of hair leading from Lee's navel, drawing the eye down to the tufts of bright red hair sticking out from between Lee's dark fingers. He felt uncomfortably warm as he watched Lee's eyes seem to roll back in his head in apparent rapture and listened to Fred's muffled grunts.  Closer examination revealed that Lee was positively shuddering with suppressed pleasure, obviously quite close to the edge.

George could imagine how it felt—only just, though—while he'd had more than his fair share of birds going down on him, the nearest thing he'd come to something like _this_ was the village boy who'd tossed him off behind the market when he was fourteen. At the time, it had been a mostly matter of availability, and the sad lack of opportunities with women—and though he'd felt guilty about it for some time after that, he couldn't deny that the thrill of the forbidden had added to the experience.

He wondered how long Fred and Lee had had these feelings (or perhaps _urges_ was a better word) for each other. Had he been missing the signs all along, or had it come out of nowhere? Either way, their feelings must have been quite strong, because there was undeniable emotion as Lee shouted out Fred's name and thrust forward into his mouth, running a hand along Fred’s face and neck.

_He’s swallowing,_ George thought, and found himself flushed with embarrassment and something else, something he wasn't sure he wanted to identify. _Fred fucking swallowed it._   When Fred rose from his feet, once again furiously snogging Lee, George wondered if Lee enjoyed his own taste on Fred's mouth, and watched in horrified fascination as Lee put his arms around George's brother, sliding his broad hands down Fred's back, spanning his arse and then pulling it close. Fred had to be hard as a rock—George himself was beginning ( _Beginning?_ He’d already been half hard as he’d tiptoed down the stairs!) to feel his trousers constricting, and he imagined how Fred must have felt, having his cock pressed against Lee’s thigh, sticking out the top of his trousers and into Lee’s belly, probably a bit wet on the tip, smearing liquid...

Before George even realised what he was doing, he had reached down to cover his own growing erection, letting his thumb slip down his trousers to circle the tip, wondering idly if Lee was going to return the favor. Surely a couple of blowjobs between friends was harmless fun, wasn't it? And if George was going to stay here, enjoying the view, how wrong was that? Really, it was the closest he was ever going to get to having Lee do something like that to _him,_ and since his brother was his mirror image, it made the fantasy even more real.

Not that he'd ever had that sort of fantasy, of course. Well, the odd dream or two, but most teenage boys had meaningless sexual dreams about pretty much everyone they knew. It was part and parcel of being a growing boy.

It wasn't as though he’d really _wanted_ to have McGonagall riding him like a wild thestral while Luna and Harry watched, was it? You couldn't choose your wet dreams, they just _happened._ And George had just _happened_ upon the scene in front of him, and so it really wasn't all that wrong to watch, was it? Any minute, Lee was going to crouch down, and it would be almost as if his lips were wrapped around _George,_ George thought, as he began to unbutton his trousers in order to savour the experience even further.

But Lee did not crouch. Instead, he moved over to the squashy couch in the center of the room, the place where George often crashed after overlong experiments. Lee grinned and winked at Fred, then slowly drew his trousers down his hips, stepping out of them. Then, to George’s astonishment, Lee leant over the arm of the sofa, looking over his shoulder at Fred in an obvious invitation.

George could see the muscles of his brother's throat strain as he gulped, and suddenly Fred had moved over in two quick steps, undoing his belt, his hands reaching out to skim Lee’s shoulders, tearing off his shirt impatiently and tossing it aside, running his fingers almost lovingly along Lee’s spine.

George took in a shaky breath as Lee began to lick his lips in anticipation, and by that time George’s hand was closed around his own cock and _oh, shit,_ he could _see,_ he could fucking perfectly imagine what was about to happen, and though he ought to have been revolted, he was ready to weep with anticipation.  He saw his brother caress his friend’s arse, circling both cheeks, smacking it playfully, while Lee whined in apparent impatience. 

At this point, George was having trouble holding back his own groans.  He watched his brother reach under his friend, he saw Lee’s look of intense concentration, and then his eyes lost their focus as lust glazed them.  He watched Fred’s face as he positioned himself, and the way that he stroked Lee’s spine in reassurance.   He saw the look of barely concealed triumph in Fred’s face, and the look or intense pleasure on Lee’s.  He watched them move in the light of the single candle; Lee’s skin seeming to absorb the light, and Fred’s hair seeming to illuminate it.  He saw the way that the moonbeam coming from the window glinted off Fred’s shoulder, and how the sweat on both their faces glistened, accentuating their familiar features and taking George’s breath away. 

And then he met his brother’s eyes, watching him freeze, first in disbelief, and then in horror.  George could almost hear his brother’s plea for understanding pounding in his brain, and he spotted Lee’s look of confusion as he tried to identify the source of his lover’s distraction. 

George’s hand stilled on his cock—he found it impossible to separate all of the warring emotions he was feeling—the shame at being caught like this, the fear that his brother would hate him, the jealously that he couldn’t quite manage to suppress, and above all, the nearly painful desperation for it to continue, for this farce to play out until George could shout out his release.  Then, maybe he could banish it all permanently from his mind, pretend that it was a lark and never again have to look at this side of himself. 

He met Fred’s eyes and nodded, trying to hold back a snort of derision at the absurdity of the situation that might also have been a sound of encouragement.  He watched his brother reach out to stroke his lover’s spine again. At that moment, Lee’s voice penetrated his consciousness, and George finally allowed himself to look at his best friend’s face, which to his astonishment was split wide with a grin.  “See,” Lee said.  “I _told_ you he’d be cool.  Better than cool, actually, I can see him wanking from here, or didn’t you notice?   Bring your freckled arse over here, Forge.  I’ve got years of fantasies stored up and I want your cock in my mouth as your brother fucks me.  ‘Bout time I compared tastes, innit?”

George again met his brother’s eyes, receiving in return the barest inclination of the head.  He wondered how his knees would support him as he rose to his feet and moved toward them.  It seemed to be the longest walk of his life, ending with him standing before them like a supplicant.  Before he could get a word out, he found himself pulled forward and felt Lee’s lips close around him.  Thrilled and terrified, George looked over at his brother for approval, only to discover that Fred was grinning maniacally.  And wouldn’t you know it?  All three of them laughed with the sheer joy of it.


End file.
